Regret
by Mazzie May
Summary: Those who are still around regret it. Angsty, very, very, VERY angsty. But still good. Rated T, set after Resi four, and R&R Please
1. Belonging

**Author's Note: Just had to write this.  
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**Summary: Those who are still around reflect on what they did from where they are now. Starting off, Rebecca feels like she needs to be somewhere.**

**Rating: T**

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**Regret**

Chapter One: Belonging

_By: Mazzie May_

Rebecca Chambers didn't deserve to make it. She was the least experienced, it'd been her first mission. She should've been ravaged by dogs, not Kevin. She should've been pecked to death, not Forrest. She should've been poisoned, not Richard. She should've been shot, not Enrico. She should've been infected and put down, not Edward…

She shuddered under her sheets._ Edward_… She'd watched him become infected, watched him "die", watched him eat another corpse, watched a bullet – _her bullet_ – smack into his skull, his head caving in the front and exploding out the back. But instead of falling backwards, a bump from the train knocked him forward, _onto_ her, a gray liquid she could only assume to have once been his brain dribbled from the new opening in his head, mixed with blood and dark puss and some other chunks she couldn't, wouldn't, identify. She just sat there like that, pressed up against the door, her knees have drawn up, the thing that was once Edward swaying slightly with the train. The man who'd been the nicest to her at the station, who looked out for her and helped with her paper work, and even understood some of her biological and mathematical rants, the man she'd even gotten a small crush on was bleeding out on top of her. His face was up against her arm, and she could feel a slick rubber thing touching it. An eye.

She half sobbed, half retched making her choke for air. She didn't deserve to live. It wasn't fair that such wonderful, strong, skilled people didn't make it, and weak pathetic little her did. It wasn't fair.

Most people thought that since they did nearly in her place, she should take the life they help her keep and do something wonderful with it.

Rebecca lives in Barry Burton's attic, and hardly leaves her bed. She showers every few weeks and Kathy comes in and changes her bedding and she eats about once every four days. She hopes she'll die and that since she didn't do anything with the life they gave her, she'd go straight to hell.

Where she belongs.

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**Author's Note: Okay, so I know I'm almost done with "Paranoia" but this just it me and I had to get it all down before I died. I'm not doing everyone, but I am doing a lot.**

** R&R Please!  
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	2. Without Them

**Author's Note: Get ready for a lot of 'em…**

**Summary: Rebecca's out of place, Barry remembers why he's where he is now**

**Rating: T**

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**Regret**

Chapter Two: Without Them

_By: Mazzie May_

Barry Burton sat on the edge of his bed, his wife Kathy fast asleep on the other side. He's up late. He'd heard Rebecca crying again and decided to stay up until she stopped, just to be sure she didn't make herself sick. He glanced at the radio alarm clock and found it nearly three in the morning. Sighing, he stood and left the bedroom. He made his way past her girls' room and down the stairs into the basement. It's where he kept all of it.

Unlike Rebecca, Barry did what he could with what he had; he bought a ranch in Canada and raised horses. The girls loved it. He joined the police there, and in the last six years had made Police Chief. He walked past the gun safe. So, why did he feel so empty? He stopped in front of the mantle.

_It should've been you, 'Rico._

Enrico Marini just smiled at him from the photograph, taken about seven years before on a finishing trip with himself and Robert Kendo. Barry winced thinking about Robby. After Raccoon was nuked off the face of the earth, and he'd seen everyone again, Jill pulled him aside. He thought she was going to say some mean things; she never forgave him for what happened in the mansion. But, instead, she handed him a folded crinkled, yellowing piece of paper and said "this was meant for you." And then just walked away, back to where Leon and Carlos were speaking. The letter had been written by Robby, telling Barry that he was going to leave Raccoon and be waiting for him up at their fishing cabin, because he liked it up there with all their good memories and that Barry needed to go up there, too, so they could go fishing together.

Robby never made it out of Raccoon.

Barry had wept like a fool the night Jill gave him the letter. Now, though, the letter was laminated and framed. Every picture of Robby, Enrico, the other Bravo members and his lost friends were framed and covered the walls. It was his way of keeping them around. Every picture of Enrico was a reminder of his treason.

It didn't matter if it was forced or not, he'd turned on his team and gotten Enrico killed all on the possibility that Wesker may or may not have a death squad waiting to take out his family. It was so obviously a lie when he looks back now; if Wesker had had a change of plans, then there'd be no way to call in the killing group. Barry was just easily manipulated. It would stay with him forever. 'Rico had been well on his way to becoming Police Chief, despite what Iron's said. And it'd been Robby's idea for him and 'Rico and Barry to move their families up north and get a ranch. Barry was living out their dreams without them. He was horrible.

And if he ever thought that maybe 'Rico would want him to be happy, all he'd have to do is give Jill Valentine a call to remind himself he wasn't forgiven. That was most the reason he took Rebecca in; sure he didn't want her to die, but she was a constant reminder of the dead Bravos.

Barry failed his teammates, their families and himself.

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**Author's Note: And we're off! There's about... six chapters, I think.**

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R&R Please **


	3. The Least

**Author's Note: Three…**

**Summary: While Barry's does what he feels is just for what he did, Claire continues to kick herself.**

**Rating: T**

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**Regret**

Chapter Three: The Least

_By: Mazzie May_

Claire stared out the car window at the barren and bleak Arizona desert as Chris took another turn a bit quick. The desert was so empty and cracked and seemed so tired. _Just like me._ She sighed outwardly and inwardly told herself to shut up. She'd just had a bad daydream about Antarctica on the drive home from the store and was all cranky now.

She'd dreamed of Steve's death yet again. It was still with her. It was funny, how she could think of Irons' death, when his body was cracked in half and a huge, mucus covered slug rolled out of his chest, made a sick _slap!_ as it hit the cement floor and scuttled away, making a trail of blood and slime and some bubbly ooze follow it down the hatch and not feel sick anymore.

She could think of the Tyrant and Mr. X and say "Glad that's over". She could have nightmares of them, but still wake up, knowing that she'd gotten away from them, that their deaths were okay, that Irons, the Tyrants and Alfred and Alexia Ashford had it coming. That they died wasn't wrong.

But Steve… That had been horrible. He'd nearly died three times before and Claire was convinced that if after that "tussle" with that four-armed thing on the roof of the Antarctica base he was still alive, nothing was going to kill him. He had the devil's luck.

But Alexia had changed that. She'd injected him and turned him into some sort of axe wielding monster. And when the knock from one of Alexia's tentacles put his genes back in place and he changed back, Claire honestly thought he was going to make it again. He might've been pale, and maybe a few cracked ribs but on the grand scale of things that was _nothing. _

But he'd rasped the words "I love you" and completely collapsed. She cried for him then because it wasn't fair that he died. Now, she cried for him because it wasn't fair that she didn't love him back. Rationale was on her side; they'd only known each other maybe two days, and in all of that she'd only spent about seventeen hours with him. Why would she have come to love him? She couldn't. But Steve did. And that made her feel like shit.

Steve had nothing to do with Umbrella; he didn't deserve what happened. Hardly anyone did, though she could think of a few. What Claire hated the most was herself; after everything happened, all he did for her, the least she could've done was lie to him before he died and said she felt the same.

All she did was stare.

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**Author's Note: I think I might do a "Through Claire's eyes" of Steve's death one shot… Dunno, though. What'd you think?**

**R&R Please **


	4. Burn Out

**Author's Note: The home stretch!**

**Summary: Claire berates herself for what she didn't do, as Leon reflects on what he did.**

**Rating: T**

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**Regret**

Chapter Four: Burn Out

_By: Mazzie May_

Leon quietly closed Lilly's bedroom door, glad she was asleep by nine, and walked down the hall, stopping in Sherry's doorway. "You going to school tomorrow?"

She looked up from her math binder and tapped her mechanical pencil, her headphones blaring. She probably had no idea what he'd said to her, but she nodded anyway, still bobbing her head to the hardcore, womanizing hip-hop and blowing a bubble of purple gum.

He smiled and waved her off, heading towards his room. He pushed the door shut with his foot and pulled off his sweater, throwing it on top of a pile of clothes that was collecting on an armchair in the corner. His sneakers made soft noises against the white carpet as he walked up to his window. On the windowsill was a pack of cigarettes. He removed one and pulled a lighter from his pocket.

He wasn't always a serious smoker, used to just be a social one, but for the last six years he went through about a pack a month. Since Spain, it's shifted to a pack a _week_. He didn't really know why.

He took a long drag, thinking of Ben Bertolucci. Leon had wanted to help him, but he wouldn't accept it. Leon did what he could, right? Wrong. Another in hale. He could've broken down the door if he wanted to. He could've threatened to shoot him. But instead he opted for letting Bertolucci think about what Leon had said and then come back. He honest to God planned on coming back. But Birkin beat him to it, and Benjamin Bertolucci is no more.

Leon crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, and pulled out another. His face was illuminated for a moment in the twilight by an orange flicker and then everything was blue again. He'd abandoned the man at he gun shop, and the police officer Marvin Branagh. The man was obviously a dead one, even before he stopped struggling but Leon didn't even try to help. As for Marvin… He sucked in the smoke hard. All the help he'd been for Officer Branagh was putting him out of misery at the end.

It was getting darker, but he could still see the street below. He snubbed the smoke and retrieved another and lit it thinking about Sherry's parents. Annette Birkin was beyond his help from the get go and the crazy bitch shot him, so he wasn't exactly feeling guilty when her body dropped like a sack of rocks on the catwalks. He flicked the ashes off the end. Birkin hadn't giving up, persistent bastard. Leon expected the end every time he'd ran into that thing and wore a tight smile when he watched the train detonate. He was sorry that Sherry lost her parents, but he wasn't sorry to see them go down in flames.

He finished it up and put it out, drawing another from the pack. It was completely dark now and the room glowed red as he lit up. He thought of Luis Sera, the man who just wanted out. He in haled deeply, the smoke lazily escaping his parted lips. Luis had been working for Saddler, yeah. But he helped him and Ashley. Even though Luis could take care of himself, it was obvious he was willing to let Leon do everything, eager to have someone else in charge, someone else taking care of him. _All the good that did him_.

He took another long drag, thinking of the two dicks the Spaniard government had the balls to call _policia_. They were pricks, without a doubt, and Leon half-heartedly looked for them until he found one burning and another swallowed by some outrageous salamander thing in the lake. He flicked the ashes. Then there was Mike. Fantastic pilot, seemly good man. Died because Leon distracted him with conversation.

Leon looked down at the cancer stick in his hand, watching the tobacco and paper burn away like the lives of the people he failed.

He couldn't save anyone.

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Author's Note: I totally see Leon as a smoker. I'm not promoting smoking, I'm just saying. He totally is.**

**R&R Please **


	5. Too

**Author's Note: Just one more after this.**

**Summary: Leon ponders his actions, as Jill ponders her lack of.**

**Rating: T**

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Regret**

Chapter Five: Too

_By: Mazzie May_

Jill quietly ran the tip of her index finger down the wearing lamination of the old 9x13 picture over and over again. It was a picture of all the STARS members, besides Rebecca Chambers. But Jill never really considered her apart of the team.

Next to each individual was a date and time of when they died, and a small description how. She, Chris and Barry were still alive technically, but she had dates and times and descriptions writing on them anyway. Their hearts were beating and they still breathed, but that was about it.

She watched nearly all of them die, and more than half of them she could've prevented. But she'd been too something that didn't allow her to help them. It was bad enough she couldn't help her friends, but she couldn't save any civilian's either. How much use was she, full of emotion; too shocked to help Joseph, too late to help Ken, too scared to help Forrest, too slow to help Richard, too oblivious to help Enrico, too weak to help Brad, too numb to help Mikihal.

She watched them all die, and did nothing for them. Well, she held Richard's hand and told him that it was going to be over soon. And she gave Mikihal one last purpose in life, that he thanked her for, before blowing himself up and the NEMESIS out. She had to change the way she was, if she was ever going to do more than be the last thing people see.

Jill was very mechanical now; it made things easier for her. Thinking of people as things and not emotionally attaching herself to anything except for Luke and Carlos was very good for her. Sometimes, when she and Leon would go out for dinner, she'd let herself a semi-smile. But whatever warmth she allowed in was gone the instant his hand left hers and she was back to the ice queen.

How could she have a good time, knowing how many different blood types stained her hands? What she felt the most guilt over was Brad. Brad tired to warn her, tried to tell her about NEMESIS, but she just didn't really listen to him until it was too late. Again, too something. The way she repaid his meager heroism was pawing his corpse hastily for his identification card, tearing his vest and even some skin. All she could think was "Now that Brad's dead, it'll come after me." That's how she saw all their deaths; whatever was done with them, would come after her.

She stroked the picture and fingered Luke. By the time she had time to mourn for Brad Vickers she'd already promised herself no more tears. She didn't get to cry for Brad. And though she never really got over his little chicken shit stunt at the estate, she missed him. She missed them all. But she had to live with it.

She killed them all.

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**Author's Note: Yeah, that was tiny. But I couldn't make it longer without ripping off "Paranoia". My Bad.**

**R&R Please **


	6. A Step Too Far

**Author's Note: Annnnd, scene.**

**Summary: Jill remembers how, Chris remembers why.**

**Rating: T**

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Regret**

Chapter Six: A Step Too Far

_By: Mazzie May_

Chris stared down at the empty toothpaste tube. It was empty. And for the life of him Chris couldn't remember if it was empty before they left for the store. It wasn't on the shopping list, so it must not of been empty. Or was it, and he just missed it?

Claire popped up next to him, and joined his staring. "Wesker did it."

Chris blinked and looked over at her. _What?_ She looked at him with the mirror, a serious expression on her face. "The logical explanation is that I finished the tube before we left because I was in here last. But, you, Big Brother-" she poked his arm. "-would assume that Wesker came into our house, used up our toothpaste and didn't even role up the tube." She turned and grinned at him. "That's just diabolical."

Chris sighed and turned out of the bathroom, going to his computer. Claire's teasing followed him down the hall. "Oh, oh! Do you think he used your toothbrush? Or mine? Oooh, or both! What about both?" He cut off her giggles by closing his door.

He shrugged off his jean jacket only after a thorough check of his room. Nothing was out of place, no sign of intrusion. He draped it over the back of his chair before sitting it, and awaking his computer from sleep mode. He waited patiently for the screen to fade back in reclined in the chair a bit.

He reached up and opened a small cupboard, reaching in for his highlighters when he saw it. He'd forgotten all about it, it'd been a long time since opened this cupboard. Forrest Spyer was smiling at him. So was everyone else. It was the summer before the Spencer Estate; Wesker had set up a paint balling training exercise at a survival camp.

_Survival… _None of them did that. Chris saw the after math of near everyone; Kevin in the helicopter, Ken in the junction hall outside the dinning room, Richard slumped against a wall in the attic, Forrest on the balcony…

Chris closed the cupboard, the tanned, smiling youth making his heart hurt. He never saw Joseph die, didn't see his body afterwards, but he knew how. He could _hear_ him die. Chris had been so angry in the mansion, not just because he was finding corpses of his friends, but also because, for all he knew, they'd died alone and scared. He wasn't able to comfort any of them in their final moments.

How long had it been since he visited their graves? Was he was so determined to stop Umbrella and Wesker that he forgot the reason he was fighting? He swore to them he'd stop this sinister company and all involved. He'd make any journey across the world to avenge them, but couldn't even take a couple of hours to fly up to Illinois' STARS Memorial where they were buried? What kind of avenger was he?

The tower was humming. And how long had it been since he got in contact with the others? He knew Barry was doing all right, but he'd heard that from Claire. And Jill was in… DC, hadn't Claire said? She'd spoken to Sherry months ago, and she's told Claire that her and that Leon guy had a "thing" now. He thought that's what Claire told him. He'd have to ask her later.

_Why not ask them yourself?_

He placed his elbows on the desk, pressed his palms to his forehead and sighed. It'd been too long; he couldn't talk to them. They probably didn't want to hear from him, either. He sighed again. He isolated himself to the best of his abilities, hoping to keep him and Claire safe. It's not like they needed him. Barry had his family, Jill had Carlos and now, apparently, Leon. He didn't have to stay. What was he doing? He's fighting Umbrella and avenging the dead. What did he do to get this far?

He abandoned the living.

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Author's Note: Alright! All done! All of that written in two days. I'm so cool. Oh, and, uhm, I'll get back to Paranoia. Gotta finish that… Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did writting it. And I know that first bit of humor in this chapter is random and inappropriate, but I'm a humor person. I couldn't do a whole sad fic. And I hope all the characters turned out to be Regretable. Kinda the whole point, you know?  
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**R&R Please **


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